by submission | Jul 19, 2012 | Story |
Author : Darrin Drader
I remember giving her one last kiss as I prepared to step into the elevator that led to the nine-stage rocket.
“Please, don’t do this,” she said. “I love you.”
I remembered laying out in the lawn looking up into the stars of the night sky as a child. I had grown up on a farm, away from the light of the cities. I could see the clusters of stars, and I had always felt drawn to them. So many times I had put myself at this moment in time, getting ready to launch.
“This is what I was born to do,” I said simply. And with that, I had turned and left her, and the planet, forever.
I’d signed up for exploration, but that was before we learned of the others. When their signals reached us, it became clear that they were jealous, petty, greedy, and worst of all, warlike. The idea of welcoming them into galactic society was repugnant. They exploited everything they touched, including each other.
The first five stages of the rocket propelled it out of the atmosphere. Once in space, the next three had sent it moving ever faster toward the edge of the solar system at relativistic speeds. This portion of the journey lasted the longest, and it was the loneliest. I couldn’t help but question whether I’d made the right decision to volunteer to die.
“They’re getting close,” the General had told me. “Despite social, religious, and political forces working against them, they’ve finally unlocked all of the science. It won’t be long now… It’s a hell of a thing to volunteer for, but we’ll remember you. I promise.”
Three weeks of remembering her, our love, and our life that would never be. Three weeks, cut off from the planet because they’d said it would be easiest for everyone if the only communication was an automated confirmation of success or failure.
The faster than light engines had kicked in once the ship had made it far enough away from any of the planets to cause damage to them. This portion of the journey lasted only minutes. Entire solar systems sailed by in the blink of an eye.
They could have sent an unmanned missile to do the job; however, such missiles weren’t able to guide the warhead in manually if the enemy managed to hack the main computer; and this species was far too dangerous to allow even a chance of survival. Given that communication moved at the speed of light, and the kill order was given decades ahead of when this species would likely achieve faster than light travel, it was entirely possible that they were already building their ships. Once our existence had been detected, it would be all over.
The engine cut out inside the orbit of the single moon. The enemy had referred to it as “Earth.” However, what awaited me was not what I expected. Instead of blue oceans and green continents, I saw only brown craters. Even the oceans had boiled away.
My four hands quickly worked the controls to disarm the missile, change the trajectory, and abort the impact. These idiots had destroyed themselves; my sacrifice was unnecessary. I didn’t have to die! I could return to her.
The planet’s gravity captured the vessel and I fell into orbit.
That was when I remembered that this was a one way mission. The faster-than-light engine was spent. They’d said it would be easiest for everyone if the only communication was an automated confirmation of success or failure…
by submission | Jul 15, 2012 | Story |
Author : Sheldon Kent
Stepping out into the street, Stan looked up and closed his eyes as he felt the warm rays of the sun fall upon his face. It’s not as hot here as it is back on Earth, but he liked it that way. It had been nine months since he first arrived on Coson, and it was beginning to feel like home. Though the gravity made his body feel slightly heavier.
However, people on Coson were still prejudiced, they didn’t like his kind. He thought, perhaps, that coming to a different planet would change the way people perceived him. To his dismay, he was wrong. But they weren’t half as bad as the people on Earth.
He played with the name tag that he had been given, glancing briefly at the barcode on the back of his left hand, both of which told people that he was a ‘clone’, a worker, someone’s servant sent to fulfil a task. The thought of it brought a lump to his throat, people could be so hurtful, even if it was simply by the way they looked at him. Little did they know that the barcode and the chip in his brain, limiting his lifespan, would be removed granting him full independence, should his trip to Coson prove a success.
Making his way home to his apartment, he decided to stop for some coffee, a celebratory drink that he had promised himself when he had completed his work. The coffee on Coson, it was said, tasted like no other. The locals had been producing their own coffee beans for at least a hundred years now, and was one of the most sought after beverages in the universe.
It took him a while to drink it. He savoured every moment, as this was his first step on the road to independence, he was going to make it last. He sat outside in the sun, watching people as they passed by, dreaming of what he might do once he was a free man.
He arrived home a little later than usual, taking time to let the feeling of freedom fill him up, till he was almost bursting with excitement. Opening his door, he was welcomed by a man sitting in his chair, he recognized the face straight away.
“Sir, what are you doing here? I was about to send the last piece of my research to you tonight,” said Stan, trying not to sound too alarmed after having been faced with an unexpected visitor in his home.
“It’s ok,” said the man, “I have been more than happy with your work, you have done a marvellous job.”
“Then what do I owe the pleasure, sir?”
“Well, here’s the thing, I was expecting you to be home two hours ago, so that I could spend some more time with you.”
“More time?” said Stan, he did not like the sound of that. He could feel his heart beating through his chest.
“Yes, see, the thing is, I have run out of money, I can’t afford to grant your independence,” said the man, without the slightest tone of regret, “You have exactly two minutes to live.”
Panic filled Stan’s body as he walked towards the window of his apartment. Lost for words he stared out into the city, knowing that this would be the last thing that he would see.
A sharp pain tore through his body, and then he slumped onto the floor.
The man, not caring for the body, took some time to look out of the window, then left.
by submission | Jul 14, 2012 | Story |
Author : Regina Clarke
“Look. Here’s the deal. It’s a no-brainer. I do all the hard work. All you have to do is wait for my signal and then press this button to start the accelerator.”
The old man listening had a worried expression on his face. “What if nothing happens?”
“How long have we known each other?”
“I don’t know. A couple of years, I guess.”
“Have I ever led you wrong before?
The old man twisted his hands together. “I guess not. But we haven’t really done anything together before, not that I can recall.”
“Only because you hesitated, didn’t want to take a chance. You were just afraid all the time, right? Like you are now?”
“I’m cautious, that’s what I am. My wife always said so. It’s a good way to be. Law-abiding and I mind my own business. Only now, with her gone…” The old man ran his hand over his thinning hair and stared for a while at the brown spots that covered the skin on his hands.
“You don’t have to say it. I know,” came the soothing voice of the man next to him, whose pallor held the look of the dead.
“What do you get out of this?” the old man asked.
“Satisfaction. Oh, not just because I see you in a happier place. After all, I’m a businessman, not a charity, right? But it doesn’t end there, no pun intended.”
“What’s that mean? You want me to pay you more, is that what you mean?” Agitation filled the old man’s eyes. “I don’t have any. You’ve got all the money I had left.”
“No! You’re fine. All paid up. What I was just trying to say was about that satisfaction thing. It’s not just about the money. I feel—what’s the word—fulfilled. Know what I mean?”
“I guess.”
“So, ready to start?”
The old man took a deep breath and gave a quick smile to his companion. “Yes, I am. It’s what I want. I’ll wait for your signal. Thank you. For caring about me.”
“It’s what I do, and what…like I said…fulfills me. I’m leaving now. You stay here. Soon as you see the flash we talked about, press the button.”
“It’ll start right away? I’ll see my Mary again?”
“You got it. On the instant.”
“How will it feel?”
“Just what I told you. You won’t feel a thing. Then you’ll see what I promised. Everything will change, believe me.”
The old man stood straighter and smiled again. “I’m ready.”
His companion left the warehouse, closing the heavy metal doors behind him. Moments later a massive flash filled the space. The old man was startled but managed to press the button on the wall in front of him.
Nothing happened. He pressed the button a few more times and then walked over to the large set of doors and with some effort pulled them open. Everything was the same, parking lot, blue sky, cars on the highway. Where was Mary?
“You know, they all ask that—different names but the same idea. I’m sorry. We’re set up for ages forty to fifty. You’re seventy-five. We’re a bit cheaper than the seventy to eighty group. I’m afraid he’s sent you to the wrong place. He always does that. Your Mary is in a different dimension.”
The old man spun around. A young woman with curly auburn hair spoke in a soft voice.
“He took my money! I paid him the full price! He promised me!”
“Yes, he always does that.”
by submission | Jul 12, 2012 | Story |
Author : Eric Flint
“It’s real simple, Butch. Just hold the button until you land.”
Butch wasn’t sure who said that, but it was important. Wait. He said that to himself just then. Damn, it was starting.
“Just hold the button. Hold the button.”
Butch whispered the mantra as he watched the Lobster’s control ship grow large in the shuttles window. The Lobsters, no one could pronounce their real name but they looked a lot like a lobster the size of an Abrams tank, had come four months ago. It hadn’t taken earth long to fall.
But then, when the enemy can control people’s minds, make them Virec, Slaves, it wasn’t a huge surprise that the fighting lasted a matter of weeks.
“Hold the button…” Butch could feel the gnawing presences of the Other Voice. It was always there, whispering, telling him to give in, to become Virec. “You are Virec. You will always be Virec. Fighting Virec is pointless. All will be Virec.” The Other Voice never stopped.
But then, Butch wasn’t known for being easily swayed.
His DI had bounced him out of his fifth run through Boot with the note in his record that “This recruits refusal to submit any form of self identity to the military makes him unfit for service. He is not able, nor will he ever be able, to submit to authority.”
Julia has said much the same thing, if in somewhat unkind words, during the divorce. And what could he say, they were right.
The Other Voice, though… it ate at him. It whisepered day in and day out. It invaded his dreams, pretending to be those who loved him.
“You are Virec.”
“Hold the Button.” Butch was rocking back and forth now, head pounding as the landing bay grew wide. He saw the cockpits lights twinkle as the autopilot was queried on the radioactive load. Bananas, it replied. Bananas were radioactive. But bananas were tasty. Bananas were good. And the Lobsters, for some reason, treated them like caviar. Butch would’ve thought they would want *real* caviar. Caviar would be Virec. All would be Virec… Shit.
“Hold the button. Easy as pie, Butch.”
He was sweating heavily now as the Other Voice grew louder and louder. It drowned out his mind, overriding his attempts to think about something else.
“VIREC. YOU WILL BE VIREC. ALL WILL BE VIREC.”
“Hold. The. Button.” He had expected this, to be honest. And he expect to die a slave… but his choice to die would be as a free man.
The ramp from the cockpit lowered as the shuttle settled to the deck. Butch slowly staggered down and faced the Lobster Intentant.
“Virec.” It’s arm translator said without tone.
Amazing. He could still think. The Other Voice was screaming now… but he could choose. Standing in front of one of the bastards, and he could fight.
“I. Am…” Butch’s voice shook with effort as he fought against the mental shackles.
“Free.”
The Lobster reached out to snip off the upstart humans head in anger, then paused as it saw a small transmitter with a giant red button where the thumb should rest tumble from Butch’s left hand.
The 40 megaton device was more then sufficient to send the control ship, and the fleet’s mental broadcasters, burning into the atmosphere.
by submission | Jul 11, 2012 | Story |
Author : Matthew Wells
We watched her give her life for ours and we hated her for it.
To be fair, when we learned someone would have to stay behind, no one else volunteered. And she’s not the type you might typically associate with bravery. That made it all the more painful. A forty-something sales rep. from somewhere on the other side of the Dog Star, Lucelli was mother to three adult daughters and wife to a station operations manager.
When I think of her, I see those gray-green eyes watching us desperately push away from the dock. We didn’t ask her to stay. She didn’t draw the short straw. She simply said she would.
And no one objected.
The shuttles limitations forced the decision, and the pilot was quick to say that he would, of course, have stayed behind if his job wasn’t so critical to our escape. For a moment, I wanted to throw him to the dogs by claiming that I could fly the Peavey, just to see him squirm. But I had my own excuses, as did the hundred and six declaring other matters of absolution.
While we waited impatiently for the engines to warm, a researcher asked Lucelli why she had come to Hells Breathe Station. She was following up on a sale of desks and storage shelves made by the station a month ago. It was supposed to be just a day’s visit.
I think the reason why we resent her is because there was no hesitation in her decision. She gave instructions about what to tell her family and even helped finish loading our supplies.
I don’t want to give the impression that Lucelli was eager to die or to be a hero; there was real sadness in those eyes. Still, she appeared calm and collected as the hatch closed.
Really, she made the easier choice. How are the rest of us supposed to live with ourselves?
And perhaps I hate her most. I was supposed to get everyone off safely. But, does being Station Director mean I should have stayed behind? Why didn’t one of the Nobel Prize geezers volunteer. Or, the visiting senator? I don’t see them being vilified.
So, why must I be the one beneath the unending assault?
Lucelli’s husband seems like a descent fellow. Our line of work is similar; it demands good organization, communication, and patience—patience because people can react strongly in the face of anxiety. And if we find that we are the ones losing our stable grip, can we not be forgiven?
I’ve lost count of the number of blows. No doubt my nose is broken and I’m missing some teeth by now. Surely, his knuckles are fractured. Can’t really blame the man.
And really, it’s all her fault.
